Who was the greatest bowler of all time? Muralidharan? Shane Warne? Clarrie Grimmet? Tiger O'Reilly? Or was it Pradeep Mathew, that uncanny Sri Lankan spinner who played just 7 tests, and then inexplicably disappeared, from sight, as well as from the record books? He seems to have been a highly controversial cricketer; there are those, like W.G. Karunasena, the veteran Sri Lankan sports writer, who drew attention to his unparalleled haul of 47 wickets in 7 tests (including 10 for 51 against New Zealand). But then there are others who swear that no bowler named Pradeep Mathew ever existed — and hold up the record books to prove their point. So who does one believe?
Well, that's what this novel is all about. It reminds one somewhat of Toniono Guerra's cryptic film of the 1960s, “In Search of Gregory” , in which Julie Christie falls in love with legends of an enigmatic character named Gregory, and chases him across Europe — but never actually gets to meet him (although in the film's last shot we see the two of them actually standing in adjacent phone booths at Geneva airport trying, poignantly, to phone each other, but not getting through).
In search of Pradeep Mathews
Chinaman is the story of the cynical, alcoholic, arrack-swigging sports-hound, W.G. Karunarasena who, in his last years, decides to track down the Pradeep Mathews legend and make a documentary film about him. But he finds himself being obstructed at every turn; by the Sri Lankan cricket authorities, by his fellow cricketers, his coaches, his family, his old girl-friend, even the LTTE. What the hell's going on? The quest for Mathews takes us, in the process, through a bittersweet meditation on life in Sri Lanka today: racism, terrorism, nationhood, corruption, lechery, paedophila, ball-tampering, match-fixing and more. This narrative is wonderfully seasoned with factoids and observations about cricket. A typical example: “Left-arm spinners cannot teach your children or cure your disease. But once in a while, the very best of them will bowl a ball that will bring an entire nation to its feet. And while there may be no practical use in that, there is most certainly value.”
When author Shehan Karunatilaka was asked if his story about Pradeep Mathews was inspired by any particular cricketer, he replied, “Everything about Pradeep Mathew is true, apart from his name. That's my story and I intend to stick to it.” Was he being deliberately arch with the interviewer? Or could it be that there was, indeed, a model for the Pradeep Mathew story… and, if so, who was it?
May I suggest that it might have, perhaps, been M. Sathasivam.
M. Sathasivam? Who the hell was that? Sathasivam or “Satha”, as he was called, was a legendary Ceylonese cricketer, from the 1930s to the 1950s. Like Mathews, he was a Tamil and a controversial character, and like Mathews you won't find him in any record book. Yet Gary Sobers called him “the greatest batsman on earth” and Frank Worrell called him “the best batsman I have ever seen”. Ghulam Ahmed, the former Indian captain (and an off-spinner of distinction) was more specific, saying, “I have bowled to Bradman, Harvey, Hutton, Denis Compton, Keith Miller and the famous 3 W's — Weekes, Worrell and Walcott. But if you ask me who the most difficult batsman I have ever bowled to was, I'd mention a name most people wouldn't have heard of: M. Sathasivam.” (Yes, you can look up all this on the Net).
Unfortunately, Satha played in an era before Ceylon played international cricket, so he never got the opportunity to get into the record books. The world was, however, occasionally treated to flashes of his brilliance. Like the time he played against Learie Constantine's Commonwealth team in 1950, hitting a masterly, unbeaten 96, and treating bowlers like Keith Miller, Sonny Ramadhin and Frank Worrell with contempt. Or like the time he led Ceylon in its drubbing of South India by an innings at Chepauk in 1947, personally hammering 215 runs in 248 minutes (out of Ceylon's total of 521 for 7): a performance described by N.S. Ramaswamy and other writers as “the finest innings ever played at Chepauk”.
But the flamboyant, silk-shirted Satha was also a playboy, with a legendary appetite for wine, women and adultery, and the reputation of being able to party all night, shower, and then go straight onto the field to smash a century. He eventually got his comeuppance for his arrogance, being framed for the murder of his wife and jailed. He was quietly released later and went away to Singapore, where he faded away, and died, far from home.
So could Satha's story — the Sri Lankan cricketing genius that nobody's ever heard of — have been the seed from which Karunatilaka's Chinaman idea germinated? Who knows? Because Karunatilaka's not telling.
